Under His Rule

Chapter 1

Natalie

Before

Everyone has their own personal hell.

Mine is a door.

A door might seem simple, but it never really is.

It’s a gateway into a place filled with memories, but it can also be a place that still echoes with screams.

They say the walls of a house hear everything, that they keep our memories safe. But I’ve never wished for anything more than for these walls to erase what happened inside them.

I wish that door—that single door I’m staring at right now—didn’t exist.

An inkling of courage settles in my veins. My feet move closer instinctively, my hand rising to grab the door handle, but the closer I get, the more my fingers shake. Until my entire body starts to tremble uncontrollably.

No. I can’t do this. I can’t face this. Not today.

So I turn around and walk away, blowing out a breath of air.

A breath of defeat.

Going into the bathroom, I peel off my clothes layer by layer, throwing them all in the basket until nothing’s left but me and myself and this mirror right in front of me staring straight into my soul. Here, everything is laid bare. There are no secrets. There’s no shame.

Just me … and my ugly, soul-crushing scar.

How can I look myself in the eyes if I can’t even enter a simple door?

I sigh and stare at the judgmental person in the mirror. The one who knows me best.

My finger slides along the line that sits on my belly. My skin no longer feels the pain, but my heart bleeds so badly the tears flow without me wanting them to, and I look away before I let things go too far.

I step under the shower and rinse away whatever emotions just came out of me, pushing back the memories further and further until they no longer exist. Because that’s what people do when they’re trying to protect themselves. When they’re trying to survive.

You bury yourself in denial until you can smile again.

No more crying. That’s a promise I made to myself, and I have to stick to it. Girl the fuck up.

So that’s what I do as I wash and then dry myself, refusing to look in the mirror while doing so. But when I leave the bathroom, that same door is right in front of me. The same door that always makes me stop in my tracks and stops the air from leaving my lungs for a second or two.

No. Look away, Natalie.

Closing my eyes, I walk to my bedroom, where I put on some fresh clothes, brush my hair, apply my makeup, and produce a fake smile. And with my head held high, I grab my bag and march out the door.

“Here you go, Ron! Hope it tastes amazing,” I say as I hand him his supper.

Ron’s here at the shelter every day. Mostly, he plays chess with one of his friends who’s always sitting by himself in the corner of the hall. For some reason, Ron can make that guy talk when none of us here behind the counter can. But I don’t mind because when I see those two smile at each other as they sit down to eat a meal, it brightens my day and warms my heart.

That’s why I do it; the kindness people show each other at this shelter is amazing, and I feel humbled to have a job here. At least for now. I don’t know if I’m going to be doing this forever, but it pays some bills, and it keeps my head above water, so I’m grateful.

When my shift ends, I grab my stuff and say bye to my coworkers for the day. On the way home, I check my cell. Nothing.

I sigh and lick my lips.

Why do I even expect anything less?

I look through my previous messages from Steve on WhatsApp, getting more and more annoyed with myself that I keep caring while he’s already forgotten about me.

“Asshole,” I mumble to myself on the way home. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I wished I’d never checked.

When I finally get home to my tiny apartment, I throw my keys on the counter and put my bag on the floor. I’m so ready to pop open a wine bottle and chill on the couch. So I grab a glass, pop a new bottle, and pour it in, just for me. Then I settle in my little corner, and I open my laptop. As I’m scrolling through the local news as I normally do when I get home from work, something catches my eye.

I stop scrolling and glare at the picture in front of me with the headline “The Family seen in town.” But it’s not the headline that boggles my mind.

It’s the picture of a few men … and one of them, the one hiding all the way in the back, has a tattoo of a symbol on his hand.